THE MERLIN 
161 
cliffs, and indicating to the mariner in the darkness 
of night and amid the howl of the tempest the path 
which will lead him to his desired haven. Along 
the eastern horizon stretches a dim ridge of 
undulated ground, the culminating points of which, 
as the French geologists say, are the broad 
eminence of Largo Law, the two Lomonds, and, 
lastly, the Ochil Hills, far in the north-west and 
shrouded in the undispersed haze of night. Nearer, 
but yet distant, is the beautiful mountain called 
Arthur Seat, behind which is the metropolis of 
Auld Scotland. There, though you cannot see her, 
sits Edina, like a queen on her throne of hills. As 
yet, none are astir on the quiet streets of the fair 
city save the drowsy watchman who, methinks (or, 
more correctly, I think), I hear at this moment 
proclaiming to the tall houses of the High Street or 
the arches of George the Fourth’s Bridge that it is 
half-past three. 
But look this way. A merlin has already 
arrived, bearing in its claws an unfortunate snipe 
which he clutched as it was searching for a few 
worms to satisfy the hunger of its patient uncom¬ 
plaining young, that lay squat among the moss in 
the low grounds beside the Milton Burn. What a 
clamour the ravenous creatures make as their 
mother throws down the prey, which one of them 
presently seizes and appropriates to himself. Now 
she is off. But what is that on the hill top ? A 
hawk, I guess, with a burden as large as itself. It 
comes, and that not slowly. It has arrived. A 
